Kiss Kiss Don't Get Stabbed (Septiplier)
by carefulnow
Summary: Based on this art by Konoira - /art/Kiss-Kiss-Don-t-Get-Stabbed-SPEEDPAINT-593109541 - In the late 1950s, it's a game of cat and mouse for Jack as he hunts down the man after his boss' fortune. But when he comes face to face with the mystery man's own spy, Mark... it's a twist Jack wasn't ready for.
1. Chapter 1

"Jack. At your service." The young man knelt on one knee with an almost devilish grin and brushed the woman's hand with his lips. Heather's shoulders straightened themselves and she let out a small sigh. "Jack, it is very nice to finally know your name."

"And it has been nice to meet you." More than you know, he added to himself. "I have heard small talk about you." He paused, waited for the question as he stood up to meet her gaze.

"Goodness, really? Whatever have you heard?" The lady asked, quite surprised.

"Passing comments, really," with an airy wave of his hand, "of a single woman with beauty in her face _and_ in her wallet."

"Well, I should like to treat you sometime," Heather replied with a warm smile. She looked him over again, taking in the dark vest and light stubble around a handsome face. "Anything I can do to repay you for the courtesy and the wine back there." And she laughed as if she'd actually said something funny, and Jack laughed too. "You know," she began, "I do feel as if I know you more than I must."

"Even if I am more of a secretive person," Jack noted, and the devilish smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I might think you feel a strong _connection_ between us."

"Jack, don't tease me," Heather giggled, and hit him softly with the back of her hand.

With the daintiness of a gentleman and the speed of an assassin, Jack caught it before it could retreat back to her side. Heather looked up at him with a slightly bewildered expression. "Jack…"

"Allow me to get… closer to you, m'lady," Jack whispered, and softly he turned her towards him. Faint music from the bar they had left met his ears in the sudden silence. He twirled her around and pressed her close to him, her short dress rustling slightly as her back pressed against his front. She giggled, and looked at him over her shoulder. The streetlight illuminated the two dancers, alone on a dark street.

"Jack, I…"

His arms moved around her sides, wrapping her up like a gift.

"I…"

And this gift was ready to be delivered.

His lips brushed her cheek and at the same time, his embrace on her tightened.

Heather took a sharp breath and never let it out again.

* * *

"You've got blood on your knee," the man said without looking up. "Which _does_ mean I am due to pay you, I suppose." He flicked his wrist and handed the younger man a check that was to be payed to Sean McLoughlin. _Robert Yewett_ was emblazoned on the side.

"Thank you, sir," Jack said, sliding it neatly into an inside pocket in his suit. "Heather was easier to seduce than you implied."

"You get paid to seduce people," Mr Yewett pointed out sharply, and Jack laughed. "Go home, Sean. You've done me enough service today."

"Thank you, sir," he said, and went to leave.

"One more thing," the older man called, and Jack paused. "I heard someone talking about a mysterious Sean. I thought it might be one of your previous clients before Yew Hotels. You _do_ go by the name Jack now, yes?"

"To most," Jack replied simply, and he bowed slightly before exiting the room.


	2. Chapter 2

_'What's your favourite dry-cleaners place? Last night was messy.'_

The note had a yellow border today. Jack read the words once, twice and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. A month ago this note would have, perhaps, raised a bit of alarm in his mind.

A month ago he had not been talking to the Rival.

Three weeks ago someone had started slipping notes through the thin gap under his window.

Two weeks ago Jack had started leaving replies.

One week ago it seemed like they could be friends, were this man not an obvious rival to him.

Jack slid open a drawer and pulled out his folder. The yellow-bordered note was slid into its place with about a dozen white notes and a few coloured ones. Jack hesitated, then pulled the note back out along with a half-rainbow of coloured paper.

Monday's was red, and on it was written: ' _I have an interesting week ahead of me.'_

Tuesday's was orange: _'Tonight I have another two-person job. Wish me luck.'_

And now this one. They were all normal. So why the rainbow? Jack read them through a few times, and then shook his head and put them back in the folder. It was a pointless wondering. He'd been raised to analyse people, not words. Perhaps it was nothing.

But what was this interesting week?

He checked his little office camera was working, just to be safe, and forced himself to bed.

* * *

Loyally, he tapped out the name of his favourite dry-cleaner on his typewriter, scratched his nose thoughtfully, shrugged and lay it on the windowsill. He grabbed the sheet of papers he had on Heather Taylor and skimmed through to make sure he hadn't missed anything. She was an easy cover-up, flitting from place to place. As far as he knew, she had parents on the other side of the country that only ever sent her money. _What a life._

If only she hadn't chosen Robert Yewett's heart to break. Because while Heather might be rich, Mr Yewett's savings were enough to bring destruction on anyone he wanted.

Jack couldn't see any loose ends to this murder, so he brought out a different file labeled _Credit Card Forgery_ and started to read.

At 2pm he left his apartment and walked to the local supermarket wearing a pair of glasses he didn't need, and no one blinked an eye. Paced around the block reading a paper. Returned home at 2:45, sipping a coffee - and stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a green-bordered note on his desk. It looked like it had been slid there in a hurry. The ink was still wet.

Jack slid his knife out quicker than he could even process and strode over to the window. He was on the third floor of the apartment block, and he still didn't know how the Rival even got up here, never mind knowing when he left.

The small grass square around the back of the building was empty.

 _'Today I watched a guard outside your master's doors. You know as well as I do that I'm not getting in there any time soon. What a pity…'_

Jack returned his knife to it's hidden sheath and grabbed the note with a quivering hand. The Rival had been in a rush this time. But why? Why had he even bothered to leave the note? "God, _why_?" Jack growled.

He didn't know, and he didn't like things he didn't know.


	3. Chapter 3

Robert Yewett was a man who got what he wanted, and it was as simple and as cliche as that. Nothing more and nothing less.

Sean was also a man who, eventually, ended up with things his way. It was like catching a thief in the act, telling him off, sending him away and the moment he disappeared into the darkness, realising that you'd blinked and he'd stolen your wallet. There was no winning. And by God, did it give him the air of seduction that no woman could resist. Or perhaps it was the Irish-tinged accent.

Sean had never returned any interest, of course. It was the one thing that didn't seem to come to him naturally. But why fall for one woman when you could make several fall at your feet? Heather had certainly done that. But Heather had just had her throat slit.

The point was, he thought purposefully, that Sean was a man who would always find his way. It was why he'd hired him. And if Sean was around, he was safe.

Mr Yewett nodded happily at this conclusion and stuck another needle, rather drunkenly, through the photo in his hand.

* * *

'Let me look around your place and I'll let you in mine. Just let me bring a knife.'

Smirking at his sense of humour, Jack placed the slip of paper in its usual place and sat back in his chair thoughtfully, glancing around the room. He'd only moved in a few months ago. His office was in his bedroom and it wasn't like he really needed the extra space he had, but Mr Yewett did pay well.

Speaking of which, he was going to be late for his meeting with the man himself. _Shit._

"It's alright, Sean," Mr Yewett said, although it sounded like it wasn't really alright. "I just want to remind you that this man is still hanging around somewhere in Maryland." A simple flick of his wrist gave Jack a glimpse at a photo of an older man he'd seen before. It looked like the photo had a few holes poked in it. "I keep telling you," Mr Yewett continued, sliding the picture back in his pocket, "that Mr Scott Ayelle has attempted to tip over my enterprise."

"And that he's too important to go missing?"

"And too clever, yes. Listen, I've got a gut feeling about this. I need you to type up some of those file things you do for anyone suspicious you meet. Got it?"

 _It's not that easy,_ Jack thought to himself, but he kept a calm face and replied, "You could have sent me a secretary, sir, or a letter. I hate to waste your time."

"It was only a few minutes. Besides, you're not going to want anyone like this guy to get a hold of a letter like that."

"That's true," Jack admitted, nodding. "Is that all, sir?"

"Tell the man outside to get me a brandy, will you?" Jack's fingers twitched with annoyance, but he nodded and left him to pace his study.

* * *

There was, of course, a blue-bordered note waiting for him at home. This one was messier than usual.

 _Alright, I laughed at that one._ _Why don't you_ _Sorry, I'_ _I'll see yo_ _I think I needed that. Thanks._

Jack sat on his bed instead of his chair this time. _Just tell me what you're up to, damn it!_ Lately, he'd been feeling less chummy with his pen-pal, and now with the fatigue and annoyance from today, he was tempted to rip up the stupid paper. Who was this guy, anyway, writing to him and gloating the fact he knew where Jack lived? "Stupid note," he muttered, "stupid rival, stupid Scott Ayelle…"

And then an odd thought struck him that he immediately put away.

* * *

He felt oddly like Mr Yewett, pacing around his room, glancing at the note if he dared. Something was bugging him, and if he had a bad feeling about something, it was usually for a good reason.

It was a nice day outside - warm, temperate. Perhaps there were families going for Sunday picnics today. He'd never seen the point in those. Maybe they were nice. What was he thinking? He'd lost his train of thought.

Jack had nothing to do today. So he was going to sit in his study and wait for this stuck-up man to come and visit. He felt almost bad thinking that, though. His Rival had seemed anxious in that note.

But he was going to wait, and nothing was going to stop him.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner in his room. He cleaned the place at least five times. The sun set and he wasn't going to sleep. He wasn't going to deliver his purple note. Jack wasn't going to sleep. He wasn't going to close his eyes. He refused to drift off.

 _Have to… keep… awake…_


	4. Chapter 4

A high pitched beeping and Jack sat up abruptly. No. No _way_. He'd fallen asleep! "God DAMN IT!" he yelled, slamming his palm on the desk. The beeping still wouldn't shut up. What was it, anyway? He felt a headache coming on and slammed the desk again, fumbling about with his other hand for the light switch.

As the light turned on and the white glow blinded him for a second, he realised three things at the exact same time.

One. The beeping was coming from his office camera.

Two. His window was slightly ajar.

Three. There was a purple-bordered note on his windowsill that Jack refused to look at. Fixing his stare on the camera, he stood on his chair to try and figure out how to make it stop. There was an instruction manual in his desk drawer, he remembered, and scrambled about for a moment.

A few silent moments of flicking through pages, and then he dropped the manual as if it had set ablaze.

 _The Jaguar property-secure camera comes with an anti-theft machine that will set off an alarming noise when turned off. To disable this noise, simply lift the cover on the top and hold both focus buttons._

 _Turned off._

 _Turned._

 _Off._

His hands quivered and he stood on his chair, flipped the cover and turned off the alarm in one swift movement. The silence closed in on him and he breathed out, with a few 'It was nothing I panicked for nothing' thoughts calming his heartbeat. Without even thinking he glanced down at the final, purple-bordered note.

 _Hello._

A long, deafening pause followed as Jack processed what he was seeing.

Into the darkness outside his room, he said, "How are you?"

And the darkness replied, "Good, yeah. The usual."

It was a man's deep voice, certainly deeper than Jack had read the notes in his head, and as he walked through the doorway, Jack took in a few things about him.

He was tall, with dark hair and eyes. Certainly someone who could blend in easily. He slipped what looked like a coin into his pocket and reached out with a tan hand. "Hi, Jack."

Uncertain, Jack took the hand and shook it. The man looked down and grinned. "Sorry, I gave you a fright. That camera gave _me_ a fright, I tell you."

Jack's hand was shaking, he realised. "You didn't have to drop in," he muttered.

"Yeah, well." He paused. "My name's Mark, by the way."

"Mark." Jack glanced at his watch. "You didn't have to drop in," he repeated, "at 4:30 in the morning."

"Beauty sleep, huh?" Mark grinned. "I get it. I've just been told I _must_ meet you," he continued, the volume of his voice dropping, "and I thought I'd grab the opportunity."

"Right." Jack found a smile growing on his face. "Mark, I don't suppose this has anything to do with a Mr Robert Yewett?"

"Oh, that guy?" Now there was a game between them, a game that only two men like them could play. "Bit of a tosser, really. Just here on a bit of business, get to know you, all that."

"And I'm guessing you're liking what you see already."

"Of course," and Mark bowed to him, and Jack was suddenly hit with the idea that Mark was playing with him, like Jack often played with the girls he met. Raising one eyebrow, he watched as Mark stood up again and went on. "You a busy person like I am, Jack?"

"Of course. Boss on my back a lot."

"I'm with you on that one. Moved to Annapolis just a month ago. Boss dragged me here, stayed a night in one of the Yew Hotels." A new emotion crossed Mark's face for a second, and he seemed to have abruptly run out of things to say.

"Nice, aren't they?" Another pause. "Well, I don't suppose you'll be staying too long. Got to get into work early tomorrow." A certain air of tension hung over his words, and he let it stay there.

"No, I'll be going. Just wanted to show off my cool breaking-and-entering skills. They have to come in handy sometime, right?"

"I could call the police." And Mark genuinely laughed at that. "It's, uh… good to meet you, anyway," Jack finished.

"Yeah, you too," Mark replied, and he looked to be telling the truth.

"Before you go, though," Jack called after him as he walked into the lounge, "how'd you get in here? I want to stop you coming in at 4:30am again."

Mark looked at him, and bit his lip slightly before answering, "Sorry, but you left your door open."

" _Damn it!_ " And with a final chuckle, Mark gave him a half-wave and left the way he'd arrived. Through the _bloody unlocked door._ Jack unleashed his frustration on the closest wall, and as he clutched his fist in regret, he took a moment to contemplate Mark. He was the one who he'd been talking to, huh?

And again, as the odd thought returned to him, who was his boss? He was clearly more skilled in the 'sneaking around' department than Jack was. "But I'm still the more seductive one," he mumbled to himself, grinning.

He'd figure it out in the morning, when his head wasn't as foggy and his heart wasn't racing as much as it was now.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack had never been so interested in a file Mr Yewett had given him. Even after 3 years of service, even the secretary looked surprised at the speed at which he grabbed the folder and nearly opened it in the middle of a busy street.

 _Scott Ayelle is, while widely unknown, infamous in rich and company communities for using loopholes in the law to rob high-powered CEOs of large portions of their fortune._

Whoever had written this (terribly boring) report claimed that he'd been after a fortune from Yew Hotels for at least ten months, blah blah blah.

And then came the interesting part.

A sharp knocking on his door brought his attention back to the real world, and he got to his feet to answer the call.

"Jack," the secretary greeted him. "I've got a letter for you, from Mr Yewett."

"Thank you…" Jack trailed off, unable to recall the woman's name, but she closed the door on him anyway. He flicked open the note and read the large, scrawled writing.

 _Sean, I'm going to assume you've nearly finished the page. I've heard from a good friend that Scott Ayelle has a contact in Annapolis somewhere. He will meet with you if he discovers the person and give you instructions. You'll have to deal with him as soon as possible._

If there was one thing all men like him had in common, it was that they could see each other from a mile off. There were lots of people in Annapolis, but Jack was sure he'd find this contact.

And the contact would find him.

"Hey," he said softly to himself, "at least Mr Yewett pays like the rich man he is."

 _(Section 2, E) Mr Ayelle is noted by several people, including a former bodyguard, to have been accused of hiring a professional spy, although no official lawsuits have taken place. The previously mentioned bodyguard claimed that he has been in the company of one well-trained spy for at least four years, although this has never been confirmed._

* * *

Night one, and no notes from Mark.

Night two. It was almost as if he'd disappeared off the face of the earth.

Night three and still no hints on who the contact was. In fact, he hadn't talked to Mr Yewett in a while, and Jack suspected he'd left town without even warning him. The constant awareness, passing by the front of his boss' office every day, was almost getting to him. But it was a feeling he'd grown rather accustomed to over the years in his job. Working with death came with odd feelings every now and then.


	6. Chapter 6

Another night without a word from Mark. It didn't _bother_ him or anything. He was just curious. Curious and suspicious. He had a feeling it all connected, almost too smoothly.

A clicking sounded at the edge of his thoughts, and he waved it off airily, shifting to a more upright position on his couch.

He'd have to work out a way to find the 'contact' somehow. His mind wandered to the paths any well-taught man could take to get under Yew Hotels, and then sharply broke off as the clicking noise grew louder. The pipes, most likely.

 _Wait- no! How could I be so unfocused?!_ And just as he got to his feet, finally aware of the sound, a sharp buzzing met his ears along with someone inhaling quickly. Jack grinned and leant against his front door, peering through the peephole in the door.

Mark was clenching his right fist with gritted teeth, and Jack could almost see the thought working in his head. Mark looked up, stared through the peephole and raised one eyebrow. Jack didn't bother hiding a laugh as he clicked open the lock and opened the door.

"What was that?"

"Electric shock."

"No shit, Sherlock," Mark replied. "Clever, though. Do you mind?" Jack stepped back and let him into the apartment. "Just set up in the perfect spot," Mark continued, "to catch anyone trying to pick the lock. That _hurt_."

"That's the point. You wanted in, you should've knocked."

"Huh." Mark attempted a smile, and Jack sensed something was off. "Don't suppose you could get me a cup of coffee?"

Jack glanced at his watch. "Coffee at 11 o'clock at night?"

"Yeah, sure."

He didn't turn his back to get the coffee. Instead, he leant against the closed door and said, "So, what's the visit for this time?"

"I haven't left you notes for a while. I thought I'd come in and say hello." Mark held Jack's gaze, and he was impressed. It was nearly impossible to take any hints from his face. "Well, it's alright."

Mark hesitated, and then said, "Where'd you get the accent?"

"What?"

"You've still got an Irish twang in your accent."

"Yeah, I got it from Ireland. Where the hell else would I have gotten it?"

"I just think it's interesting. An Irish accent in this kind of town could stick out. Not great in our line of work." There was something weird about the way he said it - just a subtle hint. And in an instant, Jack got the final clue that Mark was hiding something big.

"Listen, Mark," he began, pushing himself off the wall and walking towards his 'friend'. "I've been pretty busy with work lately. Big threat to the business and all that." Mark's eyebrows twitched into a slight frown. "I know the man who's going for a big bit of stolen money," Jack stated clearly, "and I'm going to stop him."

"Well, a man's got to protect his own, huh?" Mark was still calm - on the outside, at least.

"Yeah, he does." Jack clasped his hands behind his back, feeling the sheath for his knife against his wrist. He was closing in on Mark, but the man wasn't stepping back. He was ready for him. "And I'm gambling here. I mean, it's not like this mystery man is going without his own little spy, right?"

"You'd better keep an eye out," Mark murmured. Jack stopped and looked him in the eye, their faces an inch apart. "I've had an odd thought for a few days. I was worried about who this spy might be."

Mark broke eye contact for just a moment and Jack's hand moved, grabbed his tie, shifted the fabric between his fingers. "I was worried about who _you_ might be."

"Quite a Sherlock we have here, hmm?"

Jack slid the knife out. "Oh, I try."

He felt Mark shift his arm slightly, saw the glint of metal behind his hip.

He was here to kill him.

"'Old-fashioned stand-off' is an area I never thought I'd find myself in," Jack mused quietly, slowly moving his own knife to the side of his body. He wondered what Mark would do first. Swipe at him? Attack him with his fists first? He'd only taken self-defence for 5 years. Nevertheless. He was ready.

And then Mark tilted his head and touched his lips softly to Jack's.

He felt his muscles tighten up, his thoughts whirled into a confused fog, and his fist automatically gripped Mark's tie. _Push him off!_ But he couldn't move.

An odd feeling rippled across the hand by his side and he finally shoved Mark in the chest, letting out a yell of surprise as a million realisations crashed into him at once - and he dropped his knife. A _thump_ and Mark had his only weapon under his shoe.

"What the HELL?" Jack gasped.

"I'm going to give you one warning." Mark swiped with his foot, sending the knife into a corner. He was holding some kind of tube in his hand that he stashed in his pocket.

"A warning?! What the hell kind of assassin are you?"

"If you go looking for me, or my boss, I will kill you. Do you understand?"

" _Get out of my apartment!_ " Jack yelled.

He shrugged, a sarcastic kind of glare in his eyes, and obeyed.


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh hi, Mr Yewett. Yeah, turned out I found your most dangerous enemy's spy, and he's someone I almost became friends with. Then I let him into my apartment and he almost killed me. I could have killed him but I didn't, and then he used a small electric shocker, made me drop my knife and I watched him patiently as he walked out of my apartment and I lost what's probably my only chance to get rid of him. So how's your day going?" Jack threw himself back onto his couch and put his head in his hands. "Who am I kidding? He'll fire me. He'll make my life hell. Dear God, what have I done?"

If Mr Yewett wasn't in New York right now, he genuinely thought he might have a heart attack. At only 26, too. But it was okay, it was alright - all he needed was a plan. He was going to find Scott Ayelle and bring him down.

 _That's not much of a plan,_ he realised, and his heart sunk back into his stomach. But he could start in the Town Hall - there was usually something there.

Dressing himself casually - although white shirts and vests were most of the clothes he owned - Jack made his way across town to the Town Hall on foot.

"Newspapers, death notices, events," he mumbled to himself as he passed the boards littered with bits of paper. There was a little corner devoted to missing persons. Heather's name was there, alongside someone named Richard Wilton. Jack made a mental note to find information on him.

"Job openings?" he suggested to himself. There wasn't much here - although there was an open position as receptionist for Yew Hotels. Jack spotted the words 'Hiring Private Investigator' and smirked. There was nothing else here, though, and he was impatient to move on.

For just a moment, his eye was drawn to a flash of red at the corner of his vision. He turned his head quickly, a sense of deja vu hitting him.

It was just a woman's scarf. Jack let his breath out slower than usual. He'd almost thought it was… a red flannel shirt.

But it wasn't, he reminded himself crossly. Although he was less focused on the notices afterwards.

* * *

He came up with nothing, and walked home, defeated. All he had was a name now, and who knew if Richard Wilton had gone missing under the same circumstances as Heather Taylor? _It's a lead, though_ , he thought optimistically.

A few soft, small raindrops hit him on the face and he shoved his hands in his pockets, his speed quickening slightly. Weather here changed swiftly, and he _hated_ rain. The street around him was mostly empty. He glanced across the road at a man pulling his newspaper stand to cover, a woman and three children ducking into the safety of a cafe, and a man with his head already hidden under an umbrella. Jack's focus drifted to his feet and he stared blankly for a moment.

 _Don't think about last night._

Warmth and nerves radiating off Mark's body.

 _Don't think about last night._

The fabric of his tie under Jack's fingers.

 _Don't think about last night._

With an uncomfortable new feeling of eyes on his back, Jack quickened his pace again. A man in a blazer brushed past his shoulder with a "Hey, careful!" Jack glanced up, apologised, and his gaze was drawn back to the other side of the street.

The man under the umbrella had tilted it up, clutching it behind his head with gloved hands. Jack stopped so abruptly he nearly slid on the wet sidewalk.

His hand slid behind his back, fingers pressing against the knife hilt.

Mark looked at him with a hard expression, and as the rain thickened, they stared at each other for a long moment.

The other spy angled the black umbrella so it covered the top half of his face again, but he made no other movement.

Jack felt his hair flattening and his shoulders getting damp. He wasn't going to stand here. With new resolve, he turned and resumed his walking pace, eyes steadily ahead.

Jack turned the corner and started to run.


	8. Chapter 8

"You need to get a phone," Mr Yewett began irritably, and Jack had the immediate feeling he was not going to enjoy this meeting.

"You know I don't like phones. Besides, they're _very_ expensive."

"It'd be a lot more convenient if I didn't have to invite you over every time I want to talk."

 _What do you mean? I love spending time here, in your office building! We have such deep and stimulating conversations in this room!_ Jack bit the inside of his lip to stop himself saying the words out loud.

"Anyway, fine. Have you got anything on the contact?"

"I met a man in a bar the other night. He seemed to recognise me, and I have a strong feeling he is, at the very least, related to Scott Ayelle." Perfect cover, and by the looks of it, very convincing.

"You drink?"

"I've started having a few recently, yes." Now _that_ wasn't a lie.

"Be careful. Do you have a name on this man?"

"Yeah, Mark. No last name. Tan guy, dark hair, bit taller than me."

"Wait." Mr Yewett took a small notebook out of his pocket and muttered as he wrote, "Tan, dark hair, short…" Jack frowned but didn't reply to that last word. "Anything else?"

"Uh, no."

"That's fine. Does he do work like you?"

"I'm not sure- wait, he does!" Jack smacked himself on the forehead with his palm. 48 hours of waiting for his boss' return, and he'd forgotten about the name he'd picked up at the town hall! What was wrong with him?

"And he recognised you?"

"Yes. Do you mind if I stay a few nights in a hotel room? I've been feeling kind of unsafe lately."

Mr Yewett peered at him over a pair of reading glasses. "Have you been getting much sleep lately, Sean?"

"Losing a few hours."

"You look like you're exhausted. I'll get you a room."

"A small one's fine."

"We don't _do_ small rooms at Yew Hotels," the man replied easily. It sounded like a motto of his. "Sean, please tell me you _are_ going to bring down this man."

 _If you go looking for me, or my boss, I will kill you._

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Jack opened his suitcase, and abruptly felt that he wanted to do anything _but_ empty his suitcase at that moment. Procrastination was an odd thing. Although, he did have some more pressing matters on his mind. Thankfully, he had taken down the name of the missing person; Richard Wilton. A phone book that he had picked up from a local police station told him that he lived nearby, and that he owned a telephone, which made him an upper-class man. He'd received a brief description of the man and the conditions of his disappearance after claiming he'd seen an odd man in an alley. Richard had gone out for a drink with friends, who said he insisted on staying behind for one more drink as they left - and he'd never come home to his wife. It sounded very similar to Heather's last moments. If he could find out just a little bit more… it looked like Jack would have to visit Ms Wilton. In the meantime, he felt that he desperately needed to sleep.

The bed was large and comfortable, and he finally closed his eyes without feeling another presence in the room - or, indeed, without seeing a well-suited man in the darkness.

Despite that, he slept with a pillow pressing against his back.

* * *

"Thank you for your time, Ms Wilton."

"Please, David, call me Margaret." Jack nodded and closed the door softly behind him, leaving the young woman alone again. _David was the best name I could come up with?_ he questioned himself. But it had been worth it. He flicked open the folded piece of paper again and flicked over the details he'd jotted down.

 _Heavy drinker_

 _Job as lawyer 12 years_

 _Hopeful for promotion and increased pay_

 _Christian_

 _Strong, owned pocket knife_

 _Friends left him at the bar with a man named MARK_

 _Walked home on main streets_

Funny. Pose as a judge's seductive secretary, and you'd get all the information you needed. "I'm onto you, Mark," he hissed under his breath.

And then as he glanced up, he could have sworn he saw Mark standing there - but as the stranger tilted up his hat, it was clear it wasn't him.

Jack was almost disappointed.


	9. Chapter 9

_"Jack, I…"_

 _His arms moved around her sides, wrapping her up like a gift._

 _"I…"_

 _And this gift was ready to be delivered._

 _His lips brushed her cheek and at the same time, his embrace on her tightened._

 _Heather took a sharp breath and at that moment, Jack slit her throat and pushed her away from him. She fell slowly, even gracefully. Blood spread over the pavement and Jack swore quietly, knelt to pick her up and unfolded the body bag he'd kept ready in his hidden waist bag._

 _"Very nice, Sean." Mr Yewett was leaning calmly on a nearby wall, a streetlight outlining his face. "Perfectly clean. Nice and close to the place I assume you're going to bury them." Jack wiped his gloved hands together, blood dripping from his fingers, and grinned. "Now all you have to do," his boss continued, "is kill her."_

 _He looked up. Heather was standing in front of him. She smiled and waved, seemingly happy to see him._

 _"I don't understand," Jack said slowly, standing up. "I just… I just killed you."_

 _Both Heather and Mr Yewett frowned at him, almost like he was a child who'd made a stupid mistake. His head spinning, Jack looked down at the Heather he'd just murdered._

 _Mark lay on the ground at his feet as the blood spilled from his neck._

 _"No. No, I didn't mean to kill him. I didn't want to kill him! It was an accident!" Police sirens in the distance, red and blue flashing before his eyes. "Mark! MARK! I didn't mean it! I didn't…"_

* * *

Jack woke with a start, a strangled noise escaping his throat. His heart was pounding enough to hurt his chest. Rolling over onto his back, he blinked a few times as his vision spun before his eyes.

God, he felt sick.

He slid his legs out from under the covers, moved into a sitting position. Sweat covered his face and arms like a second skin, and the cold air froze him instantly.

He'd left the stupid window open. With a sigh, Jack got unsteadily to his feet and crossed the room, slamming it shut. His centre of balance swirled wildly and he sat down again, put his head in his hands.

That dream. It'd been so god damn real. Sure, he'd seen Heather's death before, but Mark… Suddenly the reality of his job crashed down on his shoulders and he gritted his teeth and felt blood running down his face, his hands, his arms, dripping onto the floor.

This wasn't the first time he'd woken up in the night and felt _guilt_. It happened at least six times a year. There was a price to murder. There was always a price to murder.

"I don't want to kill Mark, anyway," he said to himself, softly. "B-because it'd be a waste. No need to. I'll… lock him up, something like that. Ge-get rid of his boss."

It was 4:00 in the morning and he was talking to himself in a hotel room. With a dejected sigh, he realised he wasn't going back to sleep.

With one of the cheap robes from his wardrobe draped loosely around his shoulders, he took the stairs down two flights to the reception. A tired-looking woman smiled at him as he came down. "Sean, can I help you?"

"Yeah. Do you have a notepad you could lend me?"

"Sure, let me get one for you." She handed him one after a few seconds, and he grinned at her. "Anything else?"

"A glass of water?" She got him that too, and he drank quickly from the plastic cup. "Thanks. I owe you one… Kaylee," he read off her name tag. Kaylee looked flattered, and told him she could let him into the breakfast hall early, in an hour, if he wanted.

Jack passed the time by wandering the carpark outside, taking in the fresh air, watching the stars fade above his head as dawn approached. It was so quiet out here, so crisp, so lonely. He paced the edge of the grass, mapping his room in his head, walking through corridors of Mr Yewett's office building as if he were actually there.

20 minutes and he'd had enough. He wanted to go in and chat to someone - Kaylee would do. The warmth of the reception was so nice, and he was looking forward to the pretty girl's smile. _She must be out the back_.

"Knock knock. Mind if I come in?" No reply. "Kaylee, are you in there?" He opened the door, glancing around shelves of papers and room keys.

And he froze.

Kaylee was upright, limp like a doll, with a rope around her neck. Hanging from the ceiling.

Knife in hand, he got closer, eyes darting around her body. She'd been strangled first, and they'd hung her from the ceiling. _Mark_ , his mind whispered, but he had no way to prove it. And yet here was an employee of Yew Hotels, dead, pretty much at the front desk.

His gaze extended, searching the scene of something, _anything_. And he was going to leave when he saw the white card.

 _Ayelle Law Firm._ With an address and phone number. He felt like crying and laughing at the same time.

He could leave it there, and get Scott Ayelle called up. If he wasn't arrested, he'd be distracted for quite a while. And yet… instead, he tucked the card in his robe pocket. He had an address. He could ring him up. Mr Yewett owed him at least $500 for this.

His head foggy, Jack stumbled out and ran to the restaurant where several waitresses looked at him in confusion. He let his shock show in his face. "There's a dead girl!" he yelled, and as several people barged past him at once, he felt a rush of exhilaration.

Half an hour ago he'd been panicking about the murder he'd committed. Now, Kaylee's death made him want to smile.

* * *

 **($500 in 1950s was worth about $4,000USD today. Yes, I did google that.)**


	10. Chapter 10

Mr Yewett stared at him like he was an alien as Jack rushed up to him. Even his secretary looked annoyed at the inconvenience. "Sorry, I need to chat to you," he panted.

"Two minutes. Helen, my office." Helen nodded quickly and left them just as fast. "Sean, you have news on Kaylee?"

"Of sorts, sir. Firstly… I'm very sorry."

Mr Yewett nodded grimly. "Just hired, poor girl. She didn't deserve to get in the way of some obscene terrorist act." He paused. "That's what it was, wasn't it? He sent Mark in to kill her."

"I don't know for sure if it was Mark-"

"Then how many assassins does this man have?!" he exploded, and one receptionist looked over curiously. His boss moved him to the side, into a different corridor. "It doesn't matter, anyway. You're going to bring him down for this."

"Yes. Exactly. That's what I came to talk to you about." Jack brought the card out with two fingers and flashed it smoothly at Mr Yewett. "Can you believe it, huh?"

"Is that - is that an address?"

"Yes. I'm going to go to this office and do whatever I can to meet with this guy privately."

"Absolutely brilliant. Good luck." He didn't even ask where Jack had got the card.

"Sir, I'm glad you're keeping the hotel open for tonight," he called after the older man as he started in the opposite direction.

"Oh, yes. About that. Sean, you can go back to your own apartment now, alright?"

Jack frowned. "Sorry?"

"You spent _one night_ at my hotel and someone died. You can go home," Mr Yewett repeated firmly, without even stopping. As he turned the corner, Jack had the wonderful temptation to flip him off then and there.

However, he didn't want to be fired today.

His apartment was cold. It didn't even feel homely to him anymore. The whole world seemed to have lost its spark lately. When everyone you knew seemed to have turned against you, he supposed, that would happen. But he still had the Law Firm card, and he still had his job.

He sat on his couch with a cup of coffee and started planning.

* * *

"Hello. I was wondering if you had any openings to talk with someone in the loophole department, possibly?"

The middle-aged woman paused and lay down the papers she'd been about to put away. "Have you got a business card on you?"

"Yes, actually."

"Oh! That's fine then. Let me look at our consultant files, I'll see if I can track down an appointment." The lady ducked into a door around the side of the desk, and Jack grabbed one sheet of paper. She'd been on the phone to her boss, he could tell, and if he was right - yes! A schedule! He folded it up quickly and put it in his inside pocket.

"I'm sorry, what was your name?" the woman said a few moments later, re-emerging with a folder in her arms.

He nodded. "Robert."

"Well, Robert, if you don't mind filling me in about what you'd like to…"

"Oh, of course. I'm buying a store on Derby St and I'd to fit it out, put a few gambling machines in there, and I want to see if I can do it without an expensive permit?"

"Yes, we deal with men like you often, honey. Unfortunately, though, our one consultant in that area is taking hospital leave at the moment." _Of all the coincidences in the world!_ "Normally, of course, we transfer clients to Mr Ayelle himself -" She nodded at a door down the hallway that said _OFFICE_ "- but there's been a few security issues lately."

"I understand. You've heard about that girl…"

"Yes, at Yew Hotels! Only 24 hours ago. Very scary. I'm sorry, Robert, but…" She shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

"It's alright. Shall I come in after two weeks?"

"Perhaps three. Thank you for choosing to stop in, though." With a smile, he was dismissed.

 _Flawless._


	11. Chapter 11

_5:00pm - Meeting with all consultants regarding security_

 _6:00pm - Meeting finishes_

 _6:15pm - Chat with M_

 _6:25pm - Taxi pick up_

 _6:45pm - Dinner with executives_

 _9:00pm - Return home_

It wasn't much, and it gave him limited time, but it was enough. Fifteen minutes was the deadline. And Jack had a feeling he knew who 'M' was.

If he'd had his own schedule, it would've looked like this:

 _5:56 - Cut security camera cords_

 _5:58 - Ask receptionist to deliver note_

 _6:00 - Cut window and enter office_

 _6:15 - Get out of there._

But he didn't need a schedule. He had his knife soaked in poison, he had his gloves, he even had his fancy laser. And what else did a good assassin need?

The woman - thankfully a different one from yesterday - took his note written 'about tonight's dinner' to the office Jack had suspected was his. It had a large window and he was in the room quickly and quietly, pulled the curtains and tapped his fingers anxiously against a shelf by the door as he waited. The meeting was running overtime. _If he doesn't show up in time, I swear to-_

The door clicked open and Jack slid to the side of the room and smiled at Mr Scott Ayelle.

He was an older man, probably about 50 years old. Not much different to his own boss. He started at Jack's appearance.

"Sorry to scare you, sir. You were a bit late, so I came in. I hope that's alright."

"I'd have preferred if you waited outside," he replied crossly, closing the door behind him as if by habit. "I haven't got a lot of time, I'm afraid."

"It won't be a moment. Please, sir, you're all booked for the rest of the week."

Mr Ayelle was quiet, pacing in front of his desk. "What scheme have _you_ come up with, then?"

Jack walked steadily towards him. "A small one."

"Spit it out." Jack stayed silent. "I'll be forced to kick you out if you don't hurry."

"Don't move."

He stopped moving immediately, fear crossing his face.

"Sit on the ground. Back against your desk."

"You motherfu-"

"Did I stutter, Mr Ayelle?" The man sat on the ground and pressed his knees to his chest, glaring up at him. Jack grinned. "Good man."

"You're an idiot. I'll lock you up for this, hear me?"

"Stop talking." Jack pulled out his knife and held it in front of him. "Stop talking or I'll have to kill you. And that's not something I want to have to do."

When people knew they were going to die, they didn't care. They screamed. It was an odd reflex. But when people like Scott Ayelle had a chance to live…

"Put the knife down. I'll give you money. I'm rich, dammit, I'll pay you!" Mr Ayelle's hands shook and he was frightened. "This doesn't have to be violent, alright?"

"Legs straight."

"No, I'm not going to do that. You'll kill me."

"I'm going to wait here until I have the all clear and then I'm going to leave you alone but I swear to God if you do not straighten your legs and put your arms by your sides _right now_ I will kill you and it will be a bonus."

"You're going to kill me anyway, aren't you? You-you were hired. Oh God…"

What a pathetic guy, for someone who robbed countless people. But it was easy to work with.

And then several things happened at once.

A tiny slither of light hit the ground right beside him. Mr Ayelle looked up and his face showed relief. And someone gasped just slightly behind Jack. He swung around immediately, clenched his fist around his knife. Something registered in the back of his mind, a memory clicked into place, and as he ran towards the man something hit him hard in the chest and he buckled over, shock stinging his mind but _God damn_ he was not going down that easily, Jack kicked out with his leg and heard a grunt of pain and Mark stumbled across the floor as he heard metal pulled out of a sheath. He was on his feet in a moment and Mark went to elbow him in the face but Jack leant back, kicked out again with his foot and felt the sore muscles in his stomach pulse in protest and the instant he realised his mistake it was too late and Mark punched him hard in the face.

 _OW SON OF A BITCH!_

It felt like his whole head was numb. His thoughts were slow and weak. His back hurt from hitting the ground hard. Conversation faded in at the edge of his hearing. With all his concentration, he heard the last words.

"…thing was up, of course, cab's going straight there, first flight. Out the window, go!"

 _Shit shit shit shit. I messed everything up._

Mark grabbed his wrists firmly, pinned them to the ground. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"G'off me!" he attempted, but half his face was starting to sting. Jack tried to kick him but the other man planted his shoe on his knees and he was done. He was caught. His hands were by his sides, knife pointless but he still held on. Mark slid his fingers under Jack's grip but he gasped slightly and gripped tighter. "Blaes poisun."

"What was that?"

" _Blade's poisoned,_ " he repeated urgently, and the pressure on his hand cut off instantly. Mark didn't even look bothered now. He sighed, settled himself into what looked like a comfortable position and raised his eyebrows. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Shut up."

"You're crazy."

"I have a job to do, you- you-" Jack didn't have words for his anger. He inched his hand up the knife hilt, finger stretching towards the sharp metal.

"Stop that."

"Try and send me to jail alive, you son of a bitch."

"I meant stop fighting. You're done. He's going to the other side of the country. You lost." And Jack let himself go limp at that.

"Drop. The knife." He did. "I'm taking this. You go home right now, hear me?"

"Wh…what?"

"Go home," Mark repeated. "Be thankful you're alive." He took his foot off first, then let go of Jack's wrists, stood up and slid the poisoned knife into his sheath.

Jack didn't bother watching him go.


	12. Chapter 12

Jack wished he hadn't called Mr Yewett. It was mostly a lot of swearing over the crackling payphone line, followed by, "So you're bloody going to jail?"

"No, he let me go."

"Why would he?"

"He's a spy. Police are trouble. Scott Ayelle's on a plane right now to the other side of the country."

A long pause. "You're sure?"

"Definitely."

"You scared him off. Thank the Lord."

"Thank _me_ , probably."

"Do you think you're in any position to be cocky right now, Sean?" He just grinned at the confidence that a glass of alcohol gave him.

After that hell, he went home. Forced himself up the stairs and fumbled with his keys for a bit. God, he couldn't wait to put something cold against his face - besides a cold bottle.

But there was a silhouette in his room. He just stopped an exclamation of shock and closed his mouth firmly. "Get away from me."

"Jack, I'm sorry," Mark began.

"Bullshit. You're not sorry. It was your job."

"Exactly."

"I-" Jack couldn't reply to that for some reason.

"You, uh…" Mark put his hand around the back of his neck awkwardly. "You stopped me from touching the knife."

 _Yeah, I did. Why did I do that?_

"It wouldn't have done me that much harm, obviously," he added quickly. "But, um, thanks."

"Is that all you came to say?"

"Can you just be quiet for a moment?"

Jack folded his arms. "You broke into my apartment."

"It's not like it's the first time." The two men instantly started talking over each other.

"That's not the point-"

"I just wanted to say-"

"I don't need any pity from some guy like you-"

"You won't let me help-"

"Can you just leave me alone?"

"Jack, I don't want to hurt you. I mean, I don't want to - I can't be your enemy anymore, alright? We have no fight anymore."

"You've screwed up my entire job, what the hell are you-"

"I have a lot of complex feelings," Mark continued loudly, "and I need to sort some issues out, okay? I want us to go back to before all this. When we were writing notes. Do you remember?"

"…Yeah."

Mark stepped towards him hopefully. "We were almost friends."

"Yeah."

"I liked talking to you. I'm sorry for everything, okay? I'll quit. I'll quit if you want me to. Do you understand what I'd do?" He was close. Jack could've stolen the knife from his back. "I don't know if you… if you're…"

He leant in and cupped Jack's chin lightly. "You're still hurt. God, I'm sorry." His eyes were so close, so deep…

He didn't complain, didn't move away as Mark kissed him carefully. He blinked and his eyes stayed closed.

 _No. Stop. Stop!_

His mind floated somewhere else for a second, an hour, blurred beyond recognition.

 _I'm not doing this. Push him off._

His muscles were locked up again.

 _Again. This isn't happening again._

But Mark broke off the contact first. "Well, that answers one question," he whispered.

"No, it doesn't. Get off me."

"Jack, it was - it was too quick, I'm sorry."

"Get away from me." Mark took a few steps back, eyes down. "Do you think this is going to work?"

Both were silent. Jack slid his hand behind his back and then remembered something was missing. "Do you still have my knife?"

"Yeah. Cleaned it." He extended his arm, and Jack retrieved the weapon and stared at it in his hand.

"Jack?"

"No." Jack looked up at him, feeling emotion starting to pulse through his body again. "Everything that happened this past week is your fault. We're long past any kind of friendship. Hear me?"

"It's not all my fault."

"Yes, _it is!_ " He didn't care anymore. "I have been humiliated by you for _days_!" His voice grew louder. "You nearly killed me, followed me, forced me to move out of my apartment for a night before you killed a girl just for being hired by my boss, interrupted my job, PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE, AND NOW YOU'RE HERE AND YOU THINK I'M GOING TO LET IT ALL SLIDE?!"

Mark didn't reply, and somehow it made him even angrier. "I'M GOING TO LOSE A TON OF MONEY AND MAYBE MY JOB BECAUSE OF YOU!" Tears built up in his eyes and he couldn't care less. "MARK, RIGHT NOW I COULD KILL YOU. THE LEAST YOU COULD HAVE DONE IS KILLED ME THAT NIGHT. THAT'S ALL YOU… all you…" Jack's legs were shaking and he let himself slide down the wall, hugging his knees to his chest as tears slid like acid down his face. "It'd be be-better for you if you'd done your job," he choked.

"That's not true."

"Then stop lying to yourself."

His footsteps were heavy on the ground and he knelt in front of Jack. "Don't-"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" he yelled for the last time, and he slid his knife cleanly under Mark's neck. He gasped, put his hands behind his head. A drop of blood ran down his neck and Jack pulled the weapon back quickly.

Mark put his fingers against a tiny cut, and something finally clicked in his mind. "Fine. I'm going."

Jack closed his eyes and refused to look. He heard the door slam beside him.

He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.


	13. Chapter 13

_Two days later_

The knocking on his door was almost as hard as the pounding in his head. Almost. Swaying slightly, Jack opened the door and blinked a few times.

"Jack, good morning. Mr Yewett rang me and demanded that I wake you up. He'd like to meet with you as soon as possible." The woman's talking helped him focus on something, and his headache weakened slightly. "You were out late last night," she added as an afterthought. "Be careful, okay?"

"Thanks, Mary," he replied with a half-hearted smile. Mary had always been the best apartment manager. And she was telling the truth, he told himself firmly as she closed the door. He'd been out too late for the second night in a row, and a hangover was not something he was used to. Jack had to spend a few minutes in front of the mirror making himself presentable before he left.

His boss was waiting for him alone on the street. "Sean."

"Hello."

"I apologise for being out of touch recently."

"If _I_ hired me, I'd have to take a few days off every now and then too."

"Heh." He paused in his words and started walking, Jack slightly behind. "Listen, have you ever heard… no, you won't have."

"Heard what?" he asked as they approached the Yew Hotels.

"Lawyer text books. Basically, a chapter from the lawyer's bible. All about catching criminals and that."

"Yeah?" They entered the empty reception, and Jack glanced around. It was clean and perfect - Mr Yewett was planning to reopen in a few days. "Are you going after Mr Ayelle still?"

"No, unfortunately, I haven't got a shot at him at the moment. I'm not sure if he'll still want to pursue us after the scare you gave him. No, I'm going after Mark."

Jack winced slightly. "Why?"

"Because he stopped you from doing your job," his boss replied shortly. "And he's still in town, from what you told me. I want to sever all ties that Scott Ayelle might still have here."

"Yes," Jack replied firmly.

"So, this chapter from the 'lawyer's bible'. It says a lot of things about the taking down of criminals by civilians. I know people, see, and I'm going to use Scott's own loophole business against him."

"We're going to arrest Mark, then?"

"That's the thing you want least, isn't it? Proud men like you?" He wasn't wrong, but to hear those words in that tone was both frustrating and unsettling.

"He's the same man as me, yeah. Which is the problem. We don't get caught, not if we can help it."

"Jack, they've cleared out the Ayelle building for one day today. If you can find anything…"

"There won't be anything. They're too clever. It'll be alarmed, anyway."

"Then where the hell else do you go for clues?" Mr Yewett asked skeptically, and Jack realised - not for the first time - that he was talking to a child when it came to his work. "Just go around, dig up some files. Question a few people if you need to." He felt like cringing, but managed a straight face.

"Sean, you hate this man. Right?"

"Yes," he answered shortly.

"I understand you have a kind of connection with him-"

"What?"

"It seems like you used to be friends?"

"No. I mean, maybe, but… I don't, uh…" Jack covered his face with his hands, and then dug them in his pockets indignantly. "I'm not, he did a stupid thing. Beat me up. I'd like to look him in the face again. Especially if I'd caught him."

"Then _lock him up_ ," Mr Yewett insisted. "I can work around, talk to people, you'll get that chance. Take as much pleasure in it as I will." His face hardened. "And don't destroy your opportunity again."


	14. Chapter 14

He'd 'dug around' as his boss had asked. Town Hall, his files at home, he'd walked in front of the Ayelle law firm (it _was_ alarmed), and he'd even read through Richard Wilton's file at least five times. And what had he found?

Nothing. Because Mark was too god damn smart, and he knew it.

 _Great._ Doubled with the fact that Mr Yewett had got word of his drinking and he wasn't happy anyway. But when was Mr Yewett _ever_ happy?

"Sean, I've got some great news for you," his boss said with a grin. _Oh. Okay._ "Thanks for getting here so fast. Especially since you look… tired," he suggested optimistically.

"S'fine. I'm fine."

"Good." They were standing again in the reception, and he'd been called to talk about some break-in that night. But his boss didn't seem interested in that anymore. "Coming in the elevator?"

"What floor is it on?"

"Second."

"I'll walk, thanks."

"I'll join you." They entered the stairwell and their footsteps echoed off the cold walls.

"Sir, why are we going to the second floor?"

"Because of the break-in."

"Can you please say something that makes sense?"

Mr Yewett walked a few more paces in silence before stopping abruptly in front of room 219. "You still want to take Mark down. That makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Of course."

"And now I'll continue saying nonsense." The older man gestured to the door. "He's in there."

"What?"

"He's in that room."

"Wh- he's staying?"

"No. Tied up."

"…You're kidding me."

"You've worked for me for, what, 3 years? Do I joke?"

 _No. He doesn't._ "Shit," Jack whispered, not sure where to look or how to respond.

"You want to know why?"

"Obviously."

"Caught him sneaking around my office. Got my bouncers to hold him down. Listen to me very carefully, Sean. I will forget every little mistake you have made over all your years of service, understand?"

Jack nodded. His mouth was dry.

"You just need to make up for it. You gotta find proof that this guy is a murderer."

Again, he nodded. "Yeah. I can do that."

"Seven hundred."

" _Dollars?!_ "

"Yes."

"Shiiiitttt." _That's a hell of a lot of money…_ "I'm sorry, I have to - I have to see this. For myself."

"Helen's got the key. I'm going to give it to you, though. Who could guard it better?" he laughed. "You can go in tomorrow."

 _Tomorrow can't come fast enough._


	15. Chapter 15

_He's lying to me. Of course he is. He just wants me determined to find some evidence. He probably won't even give me the key._

 _This key won't work. It'll conveniently not fit. See, it's not- oh._

 _Alright. Go in then. Open the door. Move your hand. Push the door. You know how to open a door._

"For god's _sake_ ," he hissed and pushed hard on the handle. The door swung open and Jack immediately locked eyes with Mark.

He was sitting upright on the couch, hands behind his back. He didn't even look surprised.

Jack found a smile working its way onto his face. He was suddenly desperate to fill the silence. "So, you really _are_ here."

"Yeah," Mark replied quietly.

"I thought you were a lot smarter than that."

"So did I."

Jack paused, felt awkwardness settle on the room and stared at his feet as if they were the most interesting things in that room. The door closed quietly behind them, and suddenly that room was the whole world, just him and the man sitting in front of him.

"I heard you come by yesterday."

He looked up sharply, the aura of the room cracking slightly. "Did you?"

"How much did he offer you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack retorted.

"How much?"

"None of your business."

Mark shrugged and finally dropped his gaze. Jack found himself relaxing and took a few steps forward.

Another silence.

"I was going to go," Mark burst out suddenly. "I have a flight booked to New York. Well, I did. It left a few hours ago."

"Why New York?"

"Lots of people."

"I suppose." Jack worked this over for a moment. "And, what? You needed to take a stupid souvenir or something?"

"No!" Mark raised his voice now. "I needed to leave something in there."

"Blow us all up?"

"NO!" he yelled. "I was leaving _you_ something, you idiot!"

Pause. "Oh." He felt a little short of breath.

"Come over here." Jack did, noticing from his new view that Mark's ankles were bound as well as his hands. "Inside pocket of my jacket, there's a piece of paper."

"Alright," Jack said softly. He folded the side of the blazer inside out, and as he drew out the little slip of paper, his wrist brushed Mark's tie.

 _Fabric clenched between his fingers._

 _The same tie he wore when he came to kill me._

He was so close to Mark, he could barely even remember how he'd gotten this close, feeling his chest soften slightly as he breathed out, and without even meaning to he glanced up and met Mark's eyes. Tension sparked like an electric shock. Every time he'd been this close to this man it'd resulted in his lips, the warm embrace, now his head was clear of alcohol and his vision was sharp he could see so much more, like the life he'd been living these past days was blurry and unfocused, never thinking straight, pushing family and friends and lovers away, numb fingers against Mark's chest -

How long had he been crouched here like this? A flush of heat hit his face and he stood up quickly, shaking off the memory, snapping the rope around them. Careful not to crumple it, he kept the slip of paper pinched in his hands, slightly light-headed from the unsteady wave of realisation.

"Just… read it when you get out of here, alright?"

"I will." Something was still unsaid, though. "…You know how I found the office, don't you?"

"The business card." Jack glanced up, surprised - and then back down as he nearly caught Mark's eye again. "It fell out of my pocket, it really did. I couldn't… I couldn't pick it up, you know?"

The pen he'd left in the alley after Heather's death. The scarf that belonged to Monique, strewn across a tree branch. He couldn't bear to leave it so flawless, he knew, of course he knew. He knew what it was like to kill.

Mark shrugged and smiled slightly.

* * *

 _Jack,_

 _I'm getting out of this city now. I was just here because my boss was, anyway. And I'm most likely fired. He's a scarier man than you saw._

 _I thought a lot about what you said, the fact that I tried to get close to you without making up for the things I did. So, there's a company in New York that we robbed about 8 months ago and I'm going to leave them enough proof to get Mr Ayelle under suspicion. I realise that I'm probably going to get questioned myself, but I'm clever. I don't get caught._

 _If I'm correct, maybe that'll pay you back._

 _I daresay I'll be gone before you get this, on my plane. I don't know if we'll ever meet again. If we don't, well, I won't be surprised. And I'd like you to remember me as that man you met on that first night._

 _If we do, maybe I can remake that first impression. But I'm just daydreaming here._

 _You're a pretty good man at what you do, and I really hope you'll keep that up. Even with all that happened last time, with you as an emotional drunk and me being stupid, I think I enjoy looking back at it all. In an odd way._

 _Anyway, do me a favour and clear out my apartment, okay? It's Room 113, Redwillow Apartments. I'm going to leave it a mess. Sorry._

 _~ Mark_

 _PS. If you're reading this, and your name is Robert Yewett, kindly pass this onto Jack and don't ever mention it again. I'll find out if you do._


	16. Chapter 16

Room 113, Redwillow Apartments was a hell of a mess, just like Mark had promised.

Empty folders and various suitcases cluttered the floor, bedsheets were piled on the couch and there were even jackets and shoes in a frantic trail from the wardrobe.

"I don't know why he had to leave so quickly," the man behind him grumbled, "but he promised me you'd clean it up."

"Of course he did," Jack muttered to himself. "Thank you, I'll be about half an hour, I think."

"I don't mind, buddy. Take your time." He closed the door and Jack could have sworn he heard the lock click.

 _Well, if I want to make any progress, I'll have to clean up anyway. Clever bastard._

He checked inside each of the suitcases, filled them with the unhelpful folders and stacked them in a corner. The bedsheets were piled into a drawer, creased and roughly folded. Nothing inside any of the jacket pockets, so he hung them up. Shoes lined up nicely along the wall.

The lounge was presentable now, and Jack let out a sigh of relief, flicking a glance at his watch. Only ten minutes - not bad. But there was nothing here. He felt hesitant to enter the bedroom, for some odd reason. It was clean, thank God, and the window was open with a cold breeze flowing around the room.

Jack sat on the bed and let his attention wander around the room, then out the window, flowing along the streets, slipping under the door of Room 219, Yew Hotels. What was Mark doing? Did they let him shower, fix his hair? Perhaps he was trying to read a book, laughing at his attempts. Or maybe he was pacing the room waiting for Jack to return. He'd enter through the door, maybe make a witty comment about the apartment. Something to make him smile again.

 _Where is your mind right now? Get back to work!_ Distracted, he lifted up the mattress, checked under the bed. Nothing. What was he even looking for? Feeling stupid, he looked down at the garden under the open window. _A true act of desperation_.

But… what was this? He reached out, grabbed a folded paper with the tips of his fingers. It was folded, and stiff from dried moisture, but the ink was still readable.

* * *

"Hello, Sean. Mark's broken a window," the secretary began cheerily.

"What? Is he gone?!"

"No, no, he's still there. We've moved him to the room next door. Do everyone a favour and be calm with Mr Yewett, alright?"

"No promises," Jack replied easily, the woman's name once again slipping his mind.

"Have you been seducing women in your pastime?" Mr Yewett began. "Have you been drinking yourself silly?!"

 _I've got no time for this shit._ "I suggest you leave this last interview to me or I might just do that!" Jack retorted angrily.

"And I suppose you still have no leads?"

The paper crinkled loudly in his jacket pocket. "No. Just leave it, will you?"

"Back up, Sean! I pay your checks!"

"Do you think I'm the kind of person who's gonna worship you because of it?!"

"I think you're the kind of person who's so self-absorbed and lonely they can't even branch out and find _one little bit of paperwork!"_

"Mark just smashed a window! I'm going to get the bloody work done, just leave me alone to do it!"

"You've got one day, Sean! This is what I get for keeping killers in my hotel!" Mr Yewett fumed, slamming a folder into the arms of one unfortunate young man and storming into the next room.

"One job, Sean," the secretary sighed, passing him the new key. "Don't yell. _One job._ "

* * *

He clicked open the door, and the first thing he took in was an angry, "I was supposed to be gone!"

"Cut me some slack, Mark. You've turned everyone downstairs crazy."

"Good! They keep me tied up here, what right do they have? All I had to do was jump out of the stupid window," Mark ranted, wobbling slightly on his bound feet, "and bloody leave before _you_ turned up!"

"Why is everyone angry today?!" Jack fumed, slamming the door closed. "What have I done to incur the world's wrath on this particular day?"

"Everyone's getting a bloody taste of the world's wrath today, buddy," Mark returned.

Jack looked at him oddly, and he stared back. "What?"

"Did… did you just call me _buddy_?"

"Y-yeah?"

A long pause, and then Mark tilted his head and laughed. Suddenly the entire day seemed like the funniest thing to both men.

"Oh my god," Jack chuckled, shaking his head.

"Ugh," Mark agreed vaguely, his laughter slowly dying. "Sorry, Jack. Your boss must've given you a real earful."

"S'fine. I can handle him. It's your plan I'm worried about - break a window and jump from the second floor of a hotel, complete with tied ankles and wrists, huh?"

"It was better in my head," he replied. "And, uh… can you do something for me?"

"Depends," he grinned.

Mark mumbled something but Jack only caught a few words. "Sorry?"

"I cut myself trying to escape," he repeated, somewhat impatiently. "Can you…"

Jack felt the laughter returning and he thought Mark looked embarrassed. Nevertheless, he grabbed a few tissues from a box off the mantlepiece and stepped close. "Where?"

"Shoulder. Other side." There was a cut in the fabric of his shirt, and Jack went to pull the sleeve up without even thinking. His fingers brushed Mark's skin and he snapped back, glancing up as if asking for approval.

"Today would be nice," he added in a low voice, and Jack raised his eyebrows, pushing up the sleeve in one quick motion. "Ow! Careful! I was kidding!"

He frowned at a large cut across Mark's shoulder, still slightly wet with blood. "At least there's no glass in there. What'd you do, smash the window with this shoulder?"

"Well…"

"Christ, Mark," Jack scolded, pressing the tissues against the wound and trying to ignore the hisses of protest. His gaze wandered down, and for the first time, he realised Mark had handcuffs on.

"Nice to see you're back to your usual self," the man muttered, and though the tone was sarcastic, Jack could tell he meant it. Trying not to meet his eyes again - _not this close, not again_ \- he pulled the torn sleeve back over the rough bandage. "Thanks."

"No problem." Instincts told him to return to the other side of the room, and just to spite himself, he leant against the wall beside Mark. "We're buddies, right?" he teased.

"Of course," he replied cheerily, and in the following pause a new meaning settled over the room. Feeling his spirits dip, Jack looked to his shoes for help. They were muddy. He felt like wiping them on Mr Yewett's stupid carpet.

Mark was about to say something. He could sense it, somehow, like something had disturbed the cold, awkward mist in the room.

"Jack-"

"Don't do this again," he interrupted firmly.

"…Yeah. Right."

"I'm serious. I like being with you right now. Don't turn this… y'know. Especially now." He sighed. "Say something else."

"You found something," Mark blurted out.

"Yes."

"How bad? Scale of one to ten."

"Read it yourself." He pulled it out of his pocket, unfolded it and then again, and held it in front of Mark's face, who groaned at the first few words.

"A business card, and now this," Jack mused. "Kaylee was more trouble than it was worth."

"You're telling me. I felt odd leaving that place… I regret putting so much detail into that plan."

 _Kaylee will be at her desk at 4:15. Ask for spare key. Weapon: Rope. Plan B: Wait until room is empty and use force._

Mark was going to jail, by the word of some guy in a suit with a hotel and a hired assassin.

Was that really how it was going to play out? It was too quick, too easy. He wouldn't get a chance to process it. No chance to work out their mistakes. No time. Mark was the kind of person he would never find again.

"I'm burning it," he whispered.

Mark paused, breathed out slowly. "Say that again."

"I'm burning it," with a little laugh at the end. "I cleaned your apartment for it, and now, I'm burning it. Can you believe it?"

"I hoped you would. I really hoped."

On a wonderful urge, he pulled Mark in and hugged him. He felt his breathing stiffen, his chest against his, unshaven chin brushing Jack's lightly. His fists clenched in his handcuffs, and he wished Mark could hug him back, that they could stand like that and just live in each other's company, affection for the man in his arms taking away everything that had happened today. Jack had decided now - all the mood highs and lows he'd gone through, faltering attention, it all lead back to them being friends again.

He pulled back reluctantly, but it was time to go. "I'll see you tomorrow. When you're actually able to walk, huh?"

And that was a promise.


	17. Chapter 17

"Mary, I'm moving out." He planted his suitcase on the floor next to him and offered up his key.

"Jack, you've only been here a few months."

"It's not the apartments, of course. It's work."

"I figured. Your boss came by the front door yesterday, looked like he was going to come in but just walked off." Mary stamped a few papers and hung his key back on a hook. "You done something to wind him up?"

"Couldn't do my job well enough," Jack replied crossly.

"What about that man who always comes up to see you? How's he gonna find you?"

"It's alright. I'm going to see him today." He couldn't help smiling at the fact that even his apartment owner knew Mark.

"That's good." She handed him a contract. "Sign here." He did. "Mark used to get me to slip notes into your room, you know," she added airily.

He froze, eyes sliding up to her face. "What?"

"Those cute notes he sent you, you know," Mary said, almost teasingly. "I read them to make sure they weren't mean. He begged me not to tell you, isn't that funny?"

"Mary. You've kept that a secret from me. For four months?!" Jack put a hand to his forehead. All that time, and in the end, Mark hadn't been the one slipping notes through the window. He probably couldn't even get into the apartment. A strange laugh escaped his throat.

"All in good fun. He really likes you."

"I know," Jack mumbled without thinking.

"My son ran off with a man."

"Not like that!" He nearly tore through the paper with his last signature.

She shrugged. "Alright, sorry. You're signed out. Be careful, okay? Your job isn't as easy as you think it is."

"How much do you know about me?" he asked incredulously.

She smiled, winked and showed him out the door.

"…Look, there he is now!" _Oh god._ Mr Yewett grabbed his arm and pulled him to face an annoyed-looking policeman. "My lawyer's secretary."

"Sir, I haven't got anything."

"Bullshit. Sean, show him."

He wished he'd brought a pile of the hot embers, just to see his face. But he forced himself to keep a calm, and slightly confused, facade. "This man isn't a killer. I've looked everywhere." The policeman tutted and wrote something down. "You got it wrong."

"What are you playing at?" he hissed.

" _I_ got it wrong."

"You think I'm gonna let him go just because you two are pals?!"

"Mr Yewett, sir, please calm down," said the policeman in a dejected voice. "We've gone over this. While we have proof he has broken into your office and broken a window in your hotel, all we can do is fine him. Not to mention the fact that you have kept him hostage without legal permit."

"Please," Jack said quietly, "my boss has had a rough week. Don't these crimes balance out?"

"I'm still going to have to fine you both," he replied, glancing over his shoulder. Jack followed the look and met the amused face of Mark. _Stop smirking_ , Jack mouthed.

Mr Yewett seemed lost for words as the officer handed him a slip of paper. Jack glimpsed _$20 due by 03/24/58_ typed out, and the same on the note given to Mark. He shot Jack a beaming smile before leaving, followed by the policeman.

"That could've gone worse," he tried.

"You're fired, Sean."

"Yeah, I guessed as much."

"I'm serious. You have made every possible mistake this week," Mr Yewett said quietly, like a snake about to strike.

"Already left my apartment. You're out of my life, sir."

"Don't. Call me sir," he interrupted dangerously.

Jack saw the opportunity and, for the first time, he took it. "Whatever you say, asshole."

And as he ran like hell out of there, he heard the secretary - _Helen_ \- laugh.


	18. Chapter 18

Mark was in the lobby of his apartment block, and broke off a conversation with Mary when Jack entered. "You moved out of the apartment," he began, disappointed. "I miss that place already."

"You only went in there three times!" Jack accused instantly. "You never slid notes through the window!"

Mark shot a glare at Mary, who looked sarcastically guilty and left out the back door, muttering something about paperwork.

"You got off well, didn't you?" Jack remarked.

"You really did burn it. I was worried for a second there." Mark wrung his hand around his wrist almost nervously. "Stupid handcuffs, I still have the marks."

"How do you know Mary?"

Mark smiled. "During the war, I worked for her husband. He died, though, real unfortunate. Nice guy. Month and a half ago I moved back here, working for Ayelle, and came across her. She told me there was this man who, she could tell, did the same job I did. She knew I wouldn't hurt you," he continued hurriedly to Jack's shocked expression.

"I knew you'd like him," the woman herself added, walking past with an armful of laundry.

" _Stop trying to set me up with guys!_ " he yelled at her back. "Shut up," he added as Jack laughed quietly.

"Well, she _will_ have to stop that. Because I don't know about you, but I'm pretty happy with just one goof following me around… If, y'know, you'd like to stick with me for a bit," Jack said, with a challenging stare.

Mark struck an exaggerated thinking pose. "I would like to consider that, sir."

"Don't call me sir," Jack laughed. A short pause, and he let the tone of his voice get serious. "It's not too late to grab a flight to New York."

"If you'll come with me," he replied.

* * *

"Are you sure you're packed?" Mark asked, walking past him into the bedroom.

"Yes, I'm sure. Do you do this every time you travel?"

"I'm a careful person. Have you got your passport?"

"Yes, I do. Calm down."

"I _am_ calm. Have you got the tickets?"

"Under the blue folder."

A pause. "No, they're not? Wait, don't worry." He heard a few scuffling sounds. "Jack, why do we only have one bed?"

"Great observational skills."

"I'm serious! Does Mary only have rooms with singular beds?"

"It's a big bed," Jack pointed out, leaning against the doorway. Mark muttered something that sounded like 'Of course she would' and dug a pair of pyjamas out of his suitcase. Jack closed the bedroom door quietly and leant against the wall, smiling. Midday tomorrow and they'd be going to New York; he was more excited than he probably should have been.

"Jack, gotta tell you something important," Mark called through the wall.

"Fire away."

"I always sleep on the side closest to the window."

"That's important?"

No reply, then, "Just in case we have to do this very often."

"That sounds dangerous."

"I'm serious!" he laughed. A silence followed his words. "Unless, you know, you're uncomfortable. I can sleep on the couch?"

"It's fine."

"Alright. Because, I mean, I understand that… you're more, uh… on second thought, don't make me finish that sentence."

"Mark, I'm happy." He shifted his position against the wall and sighed softly. "I'm not worried about you being gay, if that's what you mean."

An indignant noise followed that, and then, "I'm just - I'm happy to view the relationship we have going in whatever way suits you, okay? Does that make sense?"

"Of course," he said quietly. The door opened swiftly and the embarrassed-looking Mark tried a smile.

Jack pulled him in and hugged him tightly. "You're an awkward doof. You know that, right?"

"I try to be intimidating," Mark retorted sulkily, returning the hug.

In one swift movement, Jack leant back, cupped Mark's cheek in his hand and kissed him softly. For once, he wasn't frozen, he wasn't drunk, he wasn't scared, he was just relaxed. Calm and newly in love with the man in his arms.

Breaking away for breath, he whispered, "See, I'm the seductive one."

"You're telling me," Mark replied, pulling back with a knowing grin. "Although I was the one who kissed you first, I do believe." Jack pulled away and darted into the bedroom, laughing, while Mark tailed him calling, "No, wait, you're still seductive!" Jack was grabbed from behind, and for a moment he thought of Heather, wrapping her up like Mark had him now.

But that was before the most confusing week of his life, so long ago. It'd been years since he'd picked up the red-bordered note that read: I have an interesting week ahead of me.

"What are you thinking about?" Mark asked quietly.

"Everything at once," Jack replied, as he leant in for another kiss.


	19. Chapter 19 (Final)

"Jack. At your service." He brushed Lydia's hand with his lips. She sighed, straightened her shoulders. Mark shifted slightly and he saw Jack smile. "Of course, it's an honour to meet you at this moment."

She laughed slightly, a bit confused. He grabbed her arms and held her close to him, and as she leant in, Mark appeared behind her and drove his knife squarely into her back.

She turned and looked at him with shocked, angry eyes before going limp.

"How much did he say that was?" Mark asked lightly, wiping the blade with his gloves.

Jack fixed a cloth on the wound and gestured for the body bag. "About $300."

"Decent enough. Very good job, by the way. I was touched."

"Shut it," Jack grinned, putting a finger to Mark's lips as he passed. Mark smiled to himself, but something caught in his thoughts and he turned to catch up with the other man.

"Hey, Jack, be careful. I tried to tell you in the bar, I saw a guy looking pretty suspiciously at you two. You know we have someone after us."

"I know. Don't worry about it too much."

"Yeah, alright."

* * *

They arrived home and Mark still felt uneasy. "I have this bad feeling," he tried to explain.

"Are you worried a handsome assassin's going to turn up in the middle of the night and wake you up?" Jack joked. It would have usually made him cheer up, but nothing seemed to be working at the moment. "That's what I'm here for, isn't it?" he finished, kissing Mark quickly and moving into the kitchen.

"Jack, are you still worried about that masked man too?" Mark called through the door, taking off his shoes.

"A little."

"I feel like he knows who we are."

"Mhmm."

"I'd like to go to Pennsylvania, wouldn't you?" Jack stayed silent for a moment. "I mean, I'm eager to move around."

"We'll chat about it tomorrow, hun," came the reply. Mark shrugged and slipped into the bedroom, switching the light on.

His coat was halfway off when the cold hands clamped around his mouth.

Fear stepped in immediately and he jerked his head back, but he didn't hit anything. He slammed his foot down and only caught the edge of a shoe. One hand lifted off his mouth to grab his arms and he yelled, but he could barely even hear himself. There was no way Jack could hear him.

The attacker kicked him hard right behind the knee and he fell, terror blocking his instincts. All he had to do was keep struggling. If he stopped, they'd be able to use one arm for a weapon. He jerked back with his head again and hit what felt like a chin. A quiet swear word was hissed into his ear and he screamed. Still nothing.

 _Where the fuck is Jack?!_

Another kick caught him in the back and the air escaped his lungs, gasping, panic jamming his thoughts, air, he needed air, that was all that mattered, the hand finally left his mouth and he couldn't make noise.

"Mark, hun, do you think I should just heat up pasta from last night?"

"Help," he choked quietly. Something flashed in the corner of his vision and he threw himself onto the floor with a _thump_ as the knife missed it's target and dug into his shoulder.

"Mark? You still there?"

His arms broke free and he elbowed the man sharply in the face, or his mask anyway, pain sparking from the knife in his arm, he was hurt, oh god he was hurt, blood already dripping down his arm.

"HELP!" he yelled, and it came out cracked and fell at the end, he wasn't even sure Jack had heard him, now _that_ was an awful thought as he stared at the flat expression drawn on the white mask of the man, a fist hit him in the stomach but thank god he must have been heard because yells filled the air and his attacker stood up only to have Jack's knife shoved into his throat.

"Mark! Oh my god, I was in the kitchen, I didn't hear - no, oh no, oh my god," Jack gasped. "This is my fault. This is my fault, I'm sorry!"

"Calm down," Mark said, reaching to his back and brushing the hilt of the weapon.

"Don't touch that! I'm going to get you to the hospital."

"Say I was mugged," he suggested as Jack carefully helped him to his feet.

"Yeah, yeah, I will. Can you walk?"

"I've had worse." That was a lie, but all they needed right now was for Jack to calm down.

"You were right. Of course you were right. He's the same masked guy we saw the other day."

"We were always going to have a problem with this," Mark reminded him. "Just get me patched up and we'll move tomorrow, okay?" His sight was blurred and he tripped, Jack barely keeping him upright. "I'll be fine."

"Big talk from the guy with a knife in his shoulder." He zoned out for a moment, coming back to his senses as Jack helped him onto the couch and wrapped a bunch of wet cloths around the blade. "Take it out and we have a problem," he muttered to himself.

"We need a phone."

"Payphone's just down the road." Jack grabbed a coat, one hand on the door handle. "You're gonna be okay?"

"Blacking out as we speak," Mark replied, his voice slurred even to his own ears. "Love you, Jack."

"You're such a moron," came the quiet reply as his brain slowed to a halt.

* * *

 _Mary,_

 _We've had an incident. Some guy wearing a mask waited in our bedroom and caught him in the shoulder. I'm going to tell you the truth the doctor gave me: he won't be able to use his right arm properly, well, ever again._

 _I feel so awful. I was supposed to keep him safe. But I'm distracting myself with finding out about this man. Looks like his name was Craytic, or something odd like that, though I don't know who he works for. But hey, I'm probably boring you right now. Sorry._

 _So, I have to write to let you know that we're moving to Pennsylvania and we probably won't be able to keep in touch. Mark's asleep as I'm writing but I'll say goodbye for him. Since this is my last chance for a while, I just wanted to thank you again for all the letters. It was reassuring to know you're keeping an eye on Mr Yewett. I'll have to come in and say hello at some point. (You can't hear me, but I'm being sarcastic.)_

 _Also considering the fact that I'm feeling pretty emotional, plus sitting in a hospital waiting room with nothing else to do, I suppose I'll thank you for 'setting me up' with Mark. Don't lie, I know that's what you were doing. Two weeks ago I would've been furious, but as of now, maybe I'll let it slide. You have good instincts, after all. I'm really happy to be with him._

 _I can't get married to him, not yet. But I'll stick around with him anyway. He'll have to find work, proper work, so I will too. Wonder if they're hiring in the FBI. We'll be fine. God, I'm so in love with him._

 _This hospital is doing weird things to my brain, and I'm tired, so I'm going to post this before I say anything else that's oddly out of character. I hope you and the apartments are doing well._

 _Wish us luck, if you can. We've got a long life ahead of us._

 _From Jack (and an unconscious Mark)_

 _PS. I just remembered in your last letter, you complained about a woman named Heather you ran into a few months back. In that case, I have good news for you._


	20. Jack's Fate

**I was actually curious about what Jack and Mark would get up to after the end of this fic. I supposed it wouldn't exactly be a happy ending for very long.**

 **So I wrote it.**

 **Because I enjoy inflicting pain on myself and others, apparently.**

 **Enjoy ;)**

* * *

He got home about ten minutes before Mark did, every day. It worked for him - he could get started on dinner, even if it was Mark's turn. He didn't really mind.

Jack put his briefcase on the couch this particular day and noticed that the window was open. Abruptly, he remembered their incident in New York two years ago.

But that time was long over, he reminded himself, and walked over calmly to shut it.

And that was when he glimpsed the figure hiding in the shadow of the couch and couldn't possibly move fast enough to avoid the knife that sliced through the back of his knee. He let himself cry out in pain as his leg folded and he went down with it. Jack didn't carry a knife with him anymore and he regretted it instantly as a man with dirty-blonde hair leaned over him and pressed the weapon to his throat.

"Mark," he said quietly, with a grin.

 _He's here to kill Mark. He thinks I'm Mark._ Jack had one second to choose how to react to that. He was going to die whether he was 'Mark' or not. He widened his eyes slightly and the attacker took the fake reaction easily. "Hired by Scott Ayelle. You've been replaced."

He wasn't a very good replacement if he couldn't even recognise his target. Jack could think of a million reasons his assassin was better than this one. "What's your name?"

The man looked a bit surprised, but he flicked his hair back and looked Jack evenly in the eyes. "Felix. Since you're so interested."

"Poison knife?"

Felix frowned. "Why?"

"Curious." Jack shifted his injured leg slightly and winced.

"Yes, it is. Ayelle warned me you were good at what you do. Or did, at least. You're retired now, aren't you?" The knife pressed harder into his throat and Jack wanted to scream.

"God, so much talking. Do you do this to everyone? Get it over with."

Felix's triumphant smile was replaced with a cold glare. "I'll kill you as slowly as I want to, Mark."

 _Shit. I can't have the real Mark coming home. What if he can't defend himself?_ "Alright, fine, but it's honestly in such bad taste. I mean, you're like a vulture just hanging over food. Really, Ayelle hired you? I thought he'd have reconsidered me before you. And that's saying something."

"Enough," Felix hissed, and he lifted the weapon and Jack moved to push him but Felix elbowed his arm back to the ground and slid the knife into his chest.

It was awfully done, really, sloppy and tilted and not as effective as it could be, but it still took Jack's breath away. A dull ache spread across his body.

"Happy?"

"Leave-" Jack stumbled over the word and coughed heavily. "Leave me alone, creep."

Felix shrugged. "Job's done, anyway."

 _That's what you think._

Jack laughed quietly as the assassin got to his feet and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

The wound let out a surge of pain and he gasped, gritting his teeth. _Distract yourself distract yourself._

 _One. Two. Three._

He counted slowly and the words were too loud for his own thoughts.

 _Seven. Eight. Nine._

At this point, Felix would probably be too far away to notice Mark entering the house.

 _Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen._

He needed to leave a note, a note for Mark, there was a notepad and paper in his pocket even if there hadn't been a knife there instead. Every movement was like sticking another needle in his chest. He rolled over with a quiet noise of pain and stared hard at the words as he wrote them. If Mark didn't come home in time…

It was done. Clutching it tight in his hand, he collapsed onto his back again. _One. Two. Three. Four. Calm down, Jack. It'll be over soon. Five. Six._

The door clicked open.

* * *

"Jack! I'm home!" Mark closed the door behind him and dropped his satchel at the door. The kitchen lights weren't even on. "Jack, you here?" Maybe he'd been held up.

"M-Marrr," came a voice from behind the couch. With a sudden feeling of dread, Mark hurried over and stopped dead at the sight of his lover. Jack had blood all over the front of his top and his hands were clutching something tightly. "Marrrr," he gasped again.

"Jack!" He fell to his knees and put his hands over the source of the bleeding, his heart beating heavily. "What happened? Stay awake! Stay awake, Jack!"

Jack gestured with the object in his hand. Mark grabbed a little notebook and read the shaky writing.

 _'Felix. Poison knife._

 _Thought I was you._

 _Get out of town. Change your name._

 _Bury me quietly._

 _I love you.'_

There was something else scrawled at the bottom, but at that point it was unrecognisable. Mark clasped a hand over his mouth and let out a choked sob. "Jack, no…"

"Marrrrk," he whispered.

"Hold on, Jack. Hold on. I can… go and…"

"St-st-stay," Jack stuttered, gripping the corner of Mark's blazer.

"Okay. Okay." Mark gripped Jack's hand tightly, begging himself not to cry.

"Marrrrrrk…"

"I'm right here. You'll be okay. You're gonna pass out. That's all."

Jack shook his head slightly. He was too clever to fall for that.

"You pretended you were me. Why did you do that? Why would you…" Jack's face was slackening. "Hey, don't go! Don't go!"

"Lo-love you," Jack breathed.

"I love you too. I love you. I love you." The words were all he could think, all he could say. Jack put an arm over his eyes and held Mark's hand more tightly. "I love you," Mark gasped through jerky breaths. "I love you."

And the hand fell limp.


End file.
